


under the bleachers

by thunderylee



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, papa yabu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2019-01-16 02:18:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12333477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Yabu sneaks away for a break at his son’s soccer game.





	under the bleachers

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck.

He couldn’t get away from her fast enough. If it wasn’t for that tiny center running circles around all of the other four-to-six year olds, he wouldn’t even be here. Soccer games were supposed to be his territory, but their son had wanted both of them there for this particular match and Yabu found it hard to deny his precious Kotaro anything.

Fourteen more years of this, he thinks bitterly as he sneaks away from the crowd for a smoke. He only smokes when he’s stressed, and never around his kid. It’s been a demanding week at work so far, and it’s only Wednesday. Weekday games are brutal, but Yabu makes the time.

To make matters worse, he can’t find his fucking lighter. He could have sworn he put one in his pocket, but he feels around his corduroys and comes up with nothing. He’s already got the stick hanging out of his mouth, tucked away under the bleachers like he and Hikaru used to do back when they attended this very school; come to think of it, Hikaru always had the lighter then, too.

“Need a light?” a smooth voice asks, and Yabu turns his head to see a young man strut toward him. He’s tall enough for Yabu to not have to tip his head forward to look down at, his hair flat-ironed like the kids these days do. He’s not wearing a jacket—it’s November, for fuck’s sake—but his sweater looks heavy enough. And fuzzy.

“Yeah, thanks,” Yabu replies, walking over to the stranger and holding out his hand for the lighter. Instead there’s a flame in front of his face, startling him until sees the end of his cigarette burn bright red.

The first hit of nicotine fills his lungs and instantly calms him, a sigh of relief escaping with his exhale. He smiles at the other man, probably not that much younger than himself, a little cross-eyed but it’s cute. He’s cute.

“I’m Okamoto Keito,” he introduces himself, pulling Yabu out of his trance. “Do you often creep under high school bleachers while little children play soccer?”

Yabu blinks as he realizes what this looks like. “It’s my son—” he starts defensively, relaxing when Keito laughs. “Sorry, I guess I look suspicious. My name is Yabu Kouta.”

“You have a kid?” Keito asks, peering up to look into his face. “You don’t look that old, just your clothes.”

“Made some bad choices in high school,” Yabu explains, preparing for the usual head shake or pitiful look, but Keito just nods in understanding. “And what’s wrong with my clothes?”

Keito smirks as he steps forward enough to tug at the collar of Yabu’s flannel shirt, which is folded out over the collar of his jacket. “You look like someone’s dad at a soccer game,” he whispers, like it’s a secret.

“At least I play the role well,” Yabu says with a shrug, unbothered. He doesn’t care about much after sucking down half of his smoke. He doesn’t even really want the rest, but he still hears Hikaru’s voice in his head mocking him about being wasteful.

“Shouldn’t you be watching him play?” Keito asks. He hasn’t moved from where he’d made fun of Yabu’s attire, but Yabu doesn’t mind at all. He can come as close as he wants.

“My ex-wife is being a bitch,” Yabu answers bluntly. “There’s another game after this—I needed a break.”

“Ah, girls,” Keito says, taking a step back, but Yabu grabs for him on impulse. Keito pauses, looking down at where Yabu’s fingers are encircling his wrist. “Or not?”

Yabu inhales sharply, tossing his butt on the ground and stomping it out less gracefully than he’d like. “Doesn’t matter,” he says nonchalantly.

“How old _are_ you?” Keito asks, looking more curious than worried.

“Twenty.”

That seems to be acceptable, because now Keito’s lifting his hand to the zipper of Yabu’s jacket and slowly bringing it down. His eyes are on Yabu’s, likely waiting for Yabu to give any indication that he doesn’t want to do this, but Yabu hasn’t had anyone for a while and Keito is really cute.

Once his jacket is open, Keito presses against him, pinning him to the pillar and Yabu can finally feel how fuzzy that sweater is. “You’re warm,” Keito mumbles.

“I have a jacket on,” Yabu says pointedly, but all Keito does is reach up for his collar and pull him down for a kiss. It’s gentler than Yabu expects it to be, which just makes him want more. His fingers sink into the soft fabric of Keito’s sweater as he pulls him closer, kissing him a little harder because his taste is intoxicating.

Keito doesn’t waste any time, his hands slipping under Yabu’s jacket first and then his shirt, still way too cold to touch his skin without making him jump and gasp. That brat just chuckles into their kiss, and Yabu rushes to get him back by shoving his own hands under Keito’s sweater and feeling the muscles of his back.

“ _Fuck_ , okay,” Keito gives in and Yabu retreats smugly. “You gotta get back to your business so let’s make this quick, yeah?”

It happens so fast that Yabu doesn’t register what Keito is doing until he’s already halfway down, messing with Yabu’s belt and all Yabu can do is stare at him. He expects another ice-cold touch, but the first contact to his cock is a warm, wet tongue. He quickly hardens as Keito flicks his tip, hands grabbing onto his thighs as that mouth starts to take him in.

“Oh god,” Yabu gets out, his fingers automatically scrambling for soft hair. “Feels good.”

Saying things like that make him feel like he’s in a porno, but his words seem to encourage Keito to do more, sucking Yabu’s cock all the way into the back of his throat before swallowing around him. This guy definitely knows what he’s doing, minding his teeth and licking the underside, driving Yabu crazy.

He’s twisting Keito’s hair as the contrast of hot and cold amplifies his arousal, his breath visible with each of his pants while Keito’s mouth is like a furnace. He’s not going to last long at all, but he supposes that’s the point with the way Keito’s bobbing back and forth, increasing his speed as Yabu’s fingers get tighter.

“I’m gonna—” he gets out, biting back his moans because the bleachers aren’t soundproof. There are _people_ sitting on top of them, Yabu realizes, making him come harder than he has before.

Keito drinks it all down, still licking his lips as he dusts off his knees and stands to his full height. He tucks Yabu back into his pants and fixes his belt, which is good because Yabu is doing well to hold himself up right now. “You should get back to your son.”

“What about you?” Yabu asks, his desperate need for air breaking into his voice. “Come here.”

He pulls Keito back into his mouth, groaning at the taste of himself as he reaches for Keito’s belt and fumbles it open. “I should tell you that I’m seventeen.”

Yabu pauses, pulling back enough to look at Keito’s flushed face and curse his life. “What? Really?”

“I’m not gonna report you or anything,” Keito rushes to say, flashing a small smile. “I just thought you should know before you touch me.”

“Thanks,” Yabu replies, “but I’m still going to do it.”

“ _Please_ ,” Keito whines, and Yabu grins as he picks up where he left off and finds Keito rock hard. Keito whimpers in his mouth as Yabu strokes him, hips pushing desperately into the touch and Yabu’s getting turned on all over again just watching Keito fall apart because of him.

Keito tosses his head back and Yabu’s mouth ends up on Keito’s throat, kissing all over the wide expanse of skin offered to him by the low neckline of Keito’s fuzzy sweater. Keito makes a surprised noise when he switches their positions, pushing Keito’s back to the pillar as he kneels down and sucks Keito’s cock into his mouth.

A shrill noise sounds from Keito’s lungs before he shoves his fist into his mouth, his other hand firm on Yabu’s shoulder like he isn’t sure if it’s okay to touch Yabu’s hair. It is, but Yabu’s not about to pull off to tell him that; at least he won’t have to explain an excessively wind-swept style to his ex-wife.

“Yabu-san,” Keito hisses, his body shuddering, and Yabu finds himself with a mouthful of hot release. He swallows it all, sucking until Keito gently pushes him back because he’s missed this, dammit. The way Keito looks at him as he stands up is nice, too. He wouldn’t mind seeing that again.

“When do you turn eighteen?” he asks, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“April,” Keito answers.

Yabu frowns. “So far.”

“I can keep a secret,” Keito says, his eyes devious.

“Good.” Yabu gets his hands on that sweater once more, dropping to grope Keito’s ass as they kiss once more. “My son is spending the whole weekend with her, so you can come over to my place.”

“Excellent,” Keito replies. He’s clinging to Yabu like he doesn’t want to let go, which Yabu finds incredibly cute. “This sneaking around under the bleachers in the freezing cold shit is for kids.”

“You are a kid,” Yabu points out. “And you wouldn’t be cold if you wore a jacket.”

“You’re such a _dad_ ,” Keito teases him. “I’ll wear one this weekend, promise. Along with my school uniform.”

Yabu finds it hard to concentrate on the rest of the doubleheader with that image at the forefront of his mind.


End file.
